Pages

Wednesday, May 29, 2013

The Vikings are back in Week 7/Chapter 7 of Silver and Spice by Maria MacAuley!

Hello friends/followers! Welcome to week 7/chapter 7 of Maria MacAuley's Silver & Spice. Now we present to you another portion of a very exciting, romantic and all-around great story. We will be posting a chapter for you to enjoy each week until the story's end. We are looking forward to comments, feelings, thoughts, etc. of what you think for each portion posted. So please be sure to leave a comment in the comments section :)Now I present to you... Silver and Spice!View Prologue and chapter 1 HERE, chapter 2 HERE, chapter 3 HERE, chapter 4 HERE, chapter 5 HERE, chapter 6 HERE

Chapter 7

Roisin did not try to hide her tears. Now in private, she did not have to be the
Conall’s daughter, strong and unafraid.
The week’s voyage had ended in a curiously chaste way. So far these Vikings had been neither the
bloodthirsty savages nor ravishers of maidens that were the scourge of the
coasts and waterways. Her kind stoic
foster sister had easily succumbed to Erik, and he to Ciara. Kristr did not look at her with lust or
longing, but her own feelings confused her.
She had initially despised being near him, but worried when he left her alone in Alfhilde‘s
hall. Now here in Halsrafjord, she was
described as his guest, albeit one with no way of under-staying, rather than
over –staying her welcome. She rubbed
her temples, trying to erase the memories of the past week, and finally, slowly
drifted into a dreamless sleep.

Kristr stooped under the low lintel of the sweat lodge
to find Erik already there. There was a
single fish-oil lamp flickering in the corner, most of the light cast from the
embers of the fire. He threw some water
on the stones, that circled the flames, the crackle and hiss bringing Erik out
of his warmth induced haze.

‘How is your guest faring in your hall?’ Erik didn’t open his eyes.

‘She hates me.
And why would she not? I took her
from her home.’ On his haunches, he
poked the fire and flicked more water upon the hearth, the bubbles dancing and
spitting on the stones. How strange that
the two women reacted so differently to their circumstances.

Ciara had been the maiden who had fainted in terror
and had woken up only to be carried onto a ship in a stranger’s arms. Roisin
had been awake and recalled every detail of her abduction. He remembered every
detail too. His initial reaction was
anger, fuelled by revenge against MacRonan, gradually followed by tolerance,
admiration and affection. The last two
he could have done without. It was not part of the plan. Her beauty was
striking, and her features and size were unlike Viking women, but, then again,
he did not look like a Norseman himself.
Her sharp tongue and willingness to battle wits was enticing, as well as
her gentle-woman manners when under Gertrude’s care in the bath house. No wonder MacRonan had wanted her as a
wife. No way would he surrender Roisin to
the greedy fool now.

‘She does not hate you brother.’ Erik murmured, stretching his long lean body
out over the oak bench, smooth from years of use. ‘She is just adjusting to her circumstances. Her sister will help her to adapt.’

‘If the gods had ever mislaid a child with the wrong
race of people, it is your Ciara.’

‘My Ciara.’ Erik
sighed contentedly. ‘My own Norse
goddess.’

Kristr stood up and eased himself onto the opposite
bench. His own Norse goddess was not
showering him with blessings - yet.

When Kristr returned,
Roisin was curled up on the furs, her beautiful face stained with tears,
her waist length hair unbound, curling over her slender back. He paused at the
curtain, taking in every detail; the thinly woven linen of her apron dress
falling over the dainty mounds of her breasts as her chest rose and fell with
each breath, the fine wool of the dress flowing over her sweetly curved behind.
For the first time since he had lost his mother, new emotions were arising in
him. He wanted to feel close to this woman, to make love to her, to feel her
hands on his skin. He planted a kiss on her forehead, and she woke with a
start.

'Easy, easy, I did not mean to frighten you,' he said
softly as he looked into her huge green eyes, eyelashes clumped together with
tears. Cupping her head with his hands and running his thumbs gently across her
face, he brushed the remaining drops away.

'These past few days have brought many changes for
you, but know that whilst you are here, I will teach you the language so that
you may engage with the people of the steading. You can learn about our way of
life. I will do everything in my power to protect you.'

She lowered her gaze and whispered, 'But who will
protect me from you?'

He gently raised her head, to look her in the eye
again. 'You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. I cannot deny I want
you, but not until you want me too.' He circled her cheeks. 'And in light of
our first meeting, I shall teach you how to use a dagger to offer you some
protection from harm. Tis not appropriate that all your care is left in the
hands of another.' Unless she was a Valkryie, she would have been subdued by
Kristr regardless on that fateful day. By giving her some ownership of her own
protection it would increase her confidence and trust in him.

Offering her his hand she stood up, and with interest
he watched as she adjusted her new silver brooches, straightened her dress, and
took a deep breath, composing herself after her emotional release.

Pulling her
close in an indulgent embrace, Kristr inhaled the sweet scent of her hair. She
did not resist. Holding her for a moment
he finally said, 'The meal in our honour is about to begin.' He motioned to the bed. ‘Sit and I shall fix your braid. She didn't
argue as he skillfully combed her hair and tidied it into a long braid down to
the middle of her back. He turned her around, and smoothing his hands over the
crown of her head, he admired his handiwork with a grin, a tug on the plait and
a nod of approval.

He proferred his arm, and linking hers with his, they
left for the main hall.

Kristr was expecting a feast and a crowd, but there
must have been one hundred people in the hall, sitting at trestle tables on
benches that lined the wattle and daub walls. The hearth in the middle of the
floor burned brightly, casting dancing shadows over the assembly. Six huge beams held up the rafters and a
colourful shield was displayed on each pole.

As they walked toward the low dais at the top of the
hall, silence fell on the chattering crowd. Kerik stood up, and raising his
horn in toast, shouted, 'Fortune favours us, my sons have returned home!' The
mass of people roared in approval. Glossing over the truth a little, to save
the both the blushes of his sons' hostages, and the memory of his own initial
encounter with his beloved Aisling, he added, 'and they have brought sweet
Irish maidens to add more beauty to our land!'

All eyes turned to Roisin, and holding on to him
tightly, she looked up to Kristr in confusion. 'All is well, my father has just
welcomed us home. We Vikings can be a noisy lot when we have enjoyed too much
mead.' The fact that she had turned to him in her fear, had not gone unnoticed.

At their table, he sat down next to her whilst a trencher
of boar, pheasant, cooked nettles and turnip was set before them. She took the
liberty of using a dirk, and cut two tranches of barley bread from the loaf in
front of them, handing him a piece. His grey eyes twinkled silver in the
firelight. She was beginning to trust him because she wanted to, not because
she had to do so.

True to his word, the harbour master had contacted
Johann O’Toole to tell him that the men from Donegal had docked. The previous week, when he had pushed
Kristr’s longship from the shallows, he knew he would have to find out more
about MacRonan. That mission was
accomplished. There was no need for
disguises here. MacRonan's sinister
statements had told him that there was
more at stake now than a couple of scraps of silver. When Johann had seen the
crushed gold necklace he knew who owned it, and who had given it as a gift.

During their years as foster brothers on the Shetland
Jarlshof, Kristr and Johann had been close friends, brothers in all but
blood. Alfhilde had singled Kristr out,
citing his potential, and every boy on Jarlshof knew what punishment waited
those who could not meet Alfhilde's exacting standards. Kristr had spoken often
to Johann of the pain of losing his mother so violently and of Alfhilde's beatings
for the tiniest mistake in his Greek or Latin translations. During their many
conversations as youths and later as men, Kristr had confided what had happened
during those years, how he felt he had deserved to be punished for not saving
his mother, and he started to see Alfhilde, not as a mother, but as a mentor
and later as a lover. He did not seem to
be able to escape her attentions, even with the urging of his brother,
Erik. When he saw the ruined jewelry, Johann
knew that Alfhilde was behind it, but her jealousy of Kristr's new love would
never bring him back into her bony arms.

Dressed in the breeches, short kirtle and cloak of an
Irishman, he walked into the ale house. There was no doubt which man was Conall
of Dun-na-Shee. . He looked like a fine handsome man who had aged overnight, as
if by the curse of a banshee. The man with him did not look much better, but
with anger etched on their faces rather than sorrow.

Strolling over to greet them in the traditional Irish
manner he said, 'God be with you, travellers from the North of this fair
Island. My name is Johann O’Toole and I wish to speak with you on a matter of
some importance.'

Conall looked up, eyes narrowing 'What do you know of
my business?' Johann, as usual, was not perturbed by the man's menacing tone.

'If you would be so noble as to let me speak, I shall
then address any issue you may have.'

Looking to Diarmuid, and back to Johann, through
gritted teeth, Conall snarled 'Agreed. Speak.'

'I was with Kristr and Erik Halsrason when they took
your blood daughter and your foster child.' Drawing his sword Conall jumped to
his feet intending to run the man through. Calm as ever, Johann didn't move.
'Please, sit down. You agreed to hear my tale. If you have not had
satisfaction, then you can try to best me with your sword. But all that will do
is leave your daughter fatherless.' Conall reluctantly sat down. His skill
would be hampered by his rage.

'Kristr and Erik have taken the women to Scandinavia,
not Dubh Linn as you probably have expected. They will be safe there,
especially as I feel that young Erik has taken quite a shine to Ciara.' Johan
bounced his eyebrows but was met with cold stares from the two men.

'Those barbarians have taken my daughters for another
man's crimes!' Conall spat in outrage. 'MacRonan will not pay silver for them,
and my land does not have that kind of wealth, since the pillage of the monasteries
at Bangor and Devenish. Even by going to all the chieftains in Ulster I shall
not be able to gather that amount of coin in four seasons!'

'And that is the least of your problems. I have reason
to believe that on their travels back to their own land, Kristr's boat stopped
off with an acquaintance of his.' Johann had to tread carefully. 'This
acquaintance, who has a tendency to jealousy, felt that Kristr was falling in
love with Roisin, and has communicated same to MacRonan, who would covet
anything that belongs to Kristr.'

Conall’s face fell. 'So even if I can come for my
daughter and pay the silver, she may still fall into MacRonan's hands, for this
... acquaintance?'

Johann nodded. 'I do not yet know why MacRonan wants
to ruin Kristr, but I shall eventually find out.'

Conall’s head fell into his hands. Johann O’Toole saw a man who felt he had
failed those who had depended on him. 'So what can I do to help you secure the
future of both my daughters?

'I will be making the voyage North within the next
sennight. I can bring news to your daughters that you and their brother are
well. It may allay any fears that they have.'

'I shall come too, as will Diarmuid.' Conall’s man
grunted his approval. 'If my girls are safe and cared for, I shall return to my
rath and plot MacRonan's demise. If they are being mistreated in any way by the
Halsrason Vikings, I shall kill them myself.'

'I cannot allow that. You will not be welcomed there.'
Johann was resolute. 'Your arrival will be taken as an act of war, unless you
can procure the silver as payment. Kristr will not surrender what he believes
to be his.'

As the meal neared its end, Roisin felt a little more
relaxed. She wasn't sure if it was the two cups of mead she had, the warmth of
the fire after seven days at sea, or the light touch of Kristr's hand on the
small of her back. She looked across at Ciara, who was beaming and blushing in
delight at whatever sweet words Erik was whispering in her ear. Roisin watched
as she playfully smacked his hand away from her breast before leaning in to a
lingering kiss. She wondered what would happen to her agreement with Joseph;
they would never had shared something so intimate.

The skald stood up to recite the tales of Thor and
Odin. With the lilting sounds of his words and the gasps, sighs and laughter of
his audience, she cuddled into Kristir's arms as he whispered the translation in
her ear, his lips brushing against her skin, his fingers entwining with hers,
and closing her eyes dreamily, she felt happier than she had in twelve moons.

As the night came to a close, Kristr picked up a very
drowsy Roisin. 'Kristr, I can walk, you don't need to carry me like a babe.'

'Ah, but I want to, my sweetling. Now hush and let me
keep my promise to care for you.' He carried her back to her chamber and
carefully removed her brooches and apron-dress. Gently tugging the woollen
dress over her head, it was taking all his self restraint not to start kissing
the pristine white mounds of her breasts, her delicate, dusky nipples erect
under her shift. He pulled the furs up over her smooth body, and as he dropped
a long kiss on her forehead, her lips parted into a sigh and the sound was as
sweet as birdsong to his ears.

'Kristr. My sweet. Thank you.'

'Goodnight, darling Roisin.' He left the chamber,
barely able to walk. It was going to be a long night.

oooOOOooo

Roisin woke up the following morning, feeling rested
and content. Stretching out to her full length, she wiggled her fingers and
toes in a satisfied yawn. She peeked under the furs and blushed when she saw
that she was in nothing but her shift, and remembered that Kristr had undressed
her the previous evening. Her first Norse feast. She recalled how she had been
so close to him as they listened to the magical stories of the skald, how he
carried her to her chamber and how he saw her almost nude.

She jumped out of bed, still only in her knee-length
shift, and bending over to pick up her dress off the chest, she spun around and
ran into Kristr, who was on his way into the chamber. He was naked to the waist
and she shrieked when she smacked into his chest face first. She heard him
chuckle as the colour rose in her cheeks. She took a step back and stared up at
him, her eyes widening as she took in his body.

She had seen boy babies, and small children, but never
a man. His shoulders were broad, his arms sculpted with muscle. She felt
vulnerable standing looking at him, but had an overwhelming urge to touch his
skin, the trail of hair running from his navel to his... she cast her eyes to
the ground in shame of her wantonness, of where her eyes and mind had wandered,
biting her lip as she tried to regain her composure.

'Easy, sweetling,' he breathed as he raised her chin
with his finger. 'Tis fine.'

She stared at the runes inked into his skin on his
breast, and she could not resist placing
her hand over the image she let her palm pick up, initially the slight
blue-black ridge of the tattoo, secondly the beating of his heart.

'What does the symbol mean?'

‘Dream. My mother's name in Norse.'

'It is beautiful. She is always with you.'

'In death, but not in life.'

'Do you know who took her from you?'

'No. She had pushed me behind her, and I can only
recall that he was short, a fat barrel of a man, and a greasy head of hair.' He
placed his hand over hers, and pulling her close with the other, he bent his
forehead to hers so that they touched. 'Dear sweet Roisin, I will wait for you
for ever.'

For ever was a long time. She was not sure how long she would remain a
maiden around this man.

Quotes

Awards

LEAR

About Me

A.R. is an animal lover who was born and raised in Bronx, NY and is the oldest daughter of two girls. She holds an Associate’s Degree in Computer Science and Information Technology, which was only briefly used. She’s a mother of two entertaining teen boys (as well as a lovely fawn Chihuahua, whom she considers her furry daughter.) She’s also a wife to a delightfully handsome and amazingly funny man-beast. She loves anything dragon and fantasy related. In her free time she enjoys exercising, writing, listening to music, hiking, cooking, dancing and reading. She also loves a great adventure in and out of a book!She writes to free her mind of its constant wondering and clutter. She thrives on the fact she can share some of it with readers that have the same passion for a great story.